


Seven Scenes

by quartetship



Series: A Fairy Tale [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, Original Character(s), Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 16:48:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2739785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven scenes, through Marco's eyes.</p>
<p>(Originally written & posted for JeanMarco week; Follow-up to 'Faith in a Firefly')</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Scenes

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on tumblr for JM week, and so I've left it in its original context, including the prompts. 
> 
> Just seven short scenes, this time through fairy!Marco's point of view. Nothing but fluff. :)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> \--

\--  _Zero Gravity_  --

Marco was used to flying. 

  
He'd been doing it for hundreds of years by the time Jean walked into his life, and the breathless, dizzying sensation of weightlessness had long since stopped amazing him. But the first time he lifted Jean into the air with him - arms wrapped tight around each other and hearts hammering almost in unison - it came flooding back to him. He was lost in the awestruck expression on Jean's face, captured by the wonder in his eyes at the view of the land below them.   
  
He wondered if that expression would disappear as their flights became more frequent, but to his surprise and delight, it never did. No matter how collected Jean was on land, as soon as they left the ground he clung to Marco, whispering a mixture of curses that volleyed between fear and excitement. It never ceased to amaze him, and that never ceased to amaze Marco. Not even having the valid excuse to hold Jean snugly against him was more exciting, though it ran a very close second.   
  
Marco was used to flying, but he could never get used to how breathtaking Jean's smile was when he took him along. 

  
  
\--  _Olympus_  --  
  
The crisp chill of the breeze as it swirled over the top of the mountain was just another one of the many things that Marco had long since gotten used to, unaffected as he was by the weather. He wasn't prone to getting cold, but he did hate the way the frigid wind near the summit kept flowers from blooming and grass from growing tall the way it did in the forest. No matter how much he tended the plants there, they never thrived. But the mountain had its own brand of beauty, never more apparent than when he and Jean would land on the flat clearing near the very top.   
  
"S'cold up here," Jean said, hands jammed deep into the pockets of his jacket. "I don't understand how you're not freezing."  
  
Marco smiled and shrugged. "Just naturally warm."   
  
"Good for you," Jean huffed, rubbing his arms through their sleeves. Marco stepped around behind him and looped his own arms over Jean's, warm fingers curling over the clammy ones hidden in Jean's pockets. He pressed his cheek to the back of Jean's neck, feeling Jean shiver against him.  
  
"Better?" he asked. Jean huffed again, but let his head roll back to rest on Marco's warm shoulder.   
  
"A little."  
  
They stayed there, just looking out over the forest below them until Jean was too chilled for Marco to warm him anymore, then flew back to flat land for a hot meal - and maybe a few blankets. It wasn't their last trip; Marco loved the view from the top of the mountain, even if he never actually looked at anything other than Jean. 

  
  
\--  _Homecoming_  --  
  
The air on any given morning in the small village near Marco's forest was cool, thick with the moisture that kept the land beautiful. But that morning it hung heavy with something more - the anxious excitement of an impending reunion, one he'd waited months for. He wasn't shivering, so much as shaking with nervous energy.  
  
When the train finally came to a hissing stop at the platform, he waited behind Jean's aunt, impatiently scanning the faces of the bustling crowd for a familiar one. His wings twitched nervously from their place tucked under his clothing; he didn't see Jean. It wasn't until he heard a shout of his name from somewhere over his shoulder that he turned to see the smile he'd been missing since August.   
  
Jean tossed his bags down beside him and held out his arms, his aunt already on her way to embrace him. When she stepped away she gave Marco an expectant look, and he had to make a conscious effort to keep his wings hidden when Jean beat him to the punch, crossing the space between him and picking him up high enough to spin him in place.   
  
"Welcome back," he whispered against Jean's ear.

  
_Welcome home._  

  
  
\--  _Candlelight_  --  
  
When a storm knocked out the electricity at the entire resort a few days into Jean's visit, he was less than enthused. Marco didn't understand why, but watching Jean struggle to entertain himself without electricity was admittedly pretty amusing. He hovered close, despite the tempting sounds of rain outside.   
  
For the first few hours, Jean poked at his cell phone, then at a small screen he called an ' _iPod'_. But he quickly wore them both down, and was left with nothing to do in the faded light of the early evening other than talk. At least he had Marco, he said, and Marco beamed in response.   
  
They laughed and told stories, and Jean didn't seem to miss his electronics at all. When no more light came through the windows, Jean's aunt lit candles around the cottage, and their conversations continued. Marco loved the way the soft light glowed against Jean's skin; his eyes were brighter, his smile more beautiful than ever. He was a truly gorgeous sight - even compared to every flower Marco had tended over the centuries - but Marco didn't tell him so. Jean was prone to grumbling about things like compliments.   
  
With the soft patter of rain rustling outside, Marco was content to stay inside the warmth of Lori's cottage, drinking in the sight of Jean bathed in the light of a tiny fire.

  
  
\--  _Ash_  --  
  
Sitting less than two feet from a fireplace should have been warm; no doubt, the heat licked at their skin, the light flickering as they took turns tossing scraps of paper into it. But fire could only warm their bodies, and not even the glow of tall flames could brighten glum faces. Jean was leaving the next afternoon to return to America.   
  
There wasn't much to say, so they didn't bother with talking. They'd known he wouldn't be staying long this time, but it didn't make the prospect of their time together ending any less dreadful. Instead of words, they spoke in touch, fingers looped and shoulders touching, arms occasionally hooking around a waist when a kiss needed to be pressed to a cheek or a neck. When Jean finally found his voice, it was thick with promises, and soft with worry.   
  
"I'm coming back, ok? As soon as I can." He traced a thumb over the back of Marco's hand, then lifted it to stroke the edges of his wings. "Just... don't forget about me, ok?"  
  
"I couldn't if I tried," Marco replied honestly. "You've left a mark on me forever." He pointed at the rose on his chest - the way it vined down his stomach, over his shoulder and arm - to prove his point. It had exploded into full bloom after their first kiss; Jean had been more than a little happy to see it still flowering when he'd returned to Scotland five months later. He tapped his fingers against it and smiled.  
  
"You too, y'know - even if you can't see mine." He took Marco's hand and held it to his chest, but Marco pulled it away again. He dragged it through the soot at the edge of the fireplace.  
  
"Here," he said quietly. He pressed his blackened fingertips to Jean's wrist, leaving two overlapping prints there, in something like the shape of a heart. "Now I can see it."  
  
Jean looked down at it and nodded. He was still wearing the smudges on his skin when he left the next day, and in a picture he sent to his aunt (and Marco) once he was back home. Marco didn't know what a ' _tattoo'_  was, but when Jean told him he wanted to get one of the prints when he returned to Scotland again, he knew it must have been something special. 

  
  
\--  _Uniform_  --  
  
"What are these?" Marco asked Jean's aunt Lori, eyeing the bags she brought to the table of her small kitchen. She'd asked him to have dinner with her that evening; he hadn't been expecting gifts.   
  
"Just a few things for next week," she smiled, pushing the bags toward him. "Can't have you running around in the same outfit the whole time Jean's here, can we? I expect you two will want to go into town quite a bit, so this should cover it."  
  
Marco peeked inside the bags. Shirts, pants and socks were folded inside each, a pair of boots at the bottom of one. Marco pulled them out and looked at them, already grinning at the thought of wearing them into town with Jean when he returned.   
  
"Thank you, Miss Lori! You didn't have to..."  
  
She waved dismissively and smiled. "Nonsense. You two are the reason I still have my home, and my new business. I can afford to spoil you boys a bit. Besides -" she said, her smile curling into something more knowing; "I suspect Jean will be looking to spend more time here now that he's finished with school. We've got to make sure you both have what you need while he's here, no matter how long he stays."  
  
Marco pulled one of the shirts from a bag to try on, hoping as he pulled it carefully over his head that Jean really would stay longer on his next visit to Scotland. Going to the trouble of hiding his wings and ears in front of humans was always a hassle, but one he was more than willing to go through. He ducked into Lori's bathroom to admire the new shirt, wondering if Jean would like it, too.

  
  
\--  _Dream_  --  
  
Thunder shook Marco from his sleep.   
  
He shook his head, sitting up and palming at his face to try to remember what he'd been dreaming of. Warm arms, soft blankets, a whispering voice - it had been a beautiful dream, and he groaned at the way it was slipping rapidly away as he regained his bearings. Something beside him moved, shuffling at the sound he'd made, and then the warmth returned, soft linens shifting across his legs and a voice more like a whine than a whisper.   
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
Jean sat up beside him, running a hand absently down his back, and Marco realized he hadn't been dreaming at all. He was sitting in the guest bed of Jean's aunt's cabin - Jean's bed, now - still half-tucked under comforters and quilts. Jean was beside him, and despite being half asleep, his voice and his arms were as warm as they'd been right before they'd drifted off to sleep together. Marco stretched his wings and yawned, folding them under himself again to wriggle back under the blankets.   
  
"Dream?" Jean asked, rubbing at his eyes. Marco nodded, but couldn't help smiling in the dark. He pressed a quick kiss to Jean's cheek, smiling wider when Jean grumbled in response.  
  
"Yeah," he nodded, though as Jean stretched an arm across his chest and curled back up against his shoulder, he was glad to know their life together was as real in the daylight as it was in his dreams.


End file.
